


Borrowing a Broken Love

by 2Basic



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Cheating, F/M, Gay Sex, Heartbreak, Infidelity, M/M, Song fic, literally just an excuse so i could write heartbreak, mentions of past underage relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 05:24:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4612821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2Basic/pseuds/2Basic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> Zayn looked older now, more like a man and less like a boy who had been treated well by puberty. And god, he was so fucking beautiful it made Harry’s chest ache and eyes burn, especially with the way that he was looking at him now. Zayn was studying him, letting his eyes wander over his face and examine the slight hair that had finally started to grace Harry’s chin.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <i>Harry knew for a fact that he himself looked older now. He was a lot taller than he used to be, his legs long and uncoordinated as ever. He was more muscular now and his hair was longer. He was a man, everything about him screamed it… And yet, in Zayn’s presence he still felt like a sixteen year old, wide-eyed kid who just wanted Zayn to love him.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>“You look so grown,” Zayn murmured, a half smile pushing onto his lips while his eyes conveyed something else.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>Harry shrugged, looking away. “That’s what happens, Z. We grow up, we become different people.” </i></p><p> </p><p>or an au where harry has loved zayn for so long he can't even remember and sometimes you have to say goodbye</p>
            </blockquote>





	Borrowing a Broken Love

**Author's Note:**

> okay so im just going to start off by saying i haven't posted anything on here in over a year and i think i might actually be getting back into the swing of things??? except this time it isn't about larry and my writing is way better than it used to be, or at least i hope so lmao
> 
> this is p short but i loved writing it
> 
> the title is taken from the song borrowing by ashley frangipane and is very, very loosely based off it.
> 
> disclaimer: i don't support underage relationships, cheating, or any other questionable shit that is in this story. this is a work of fiction, obviously.

Harry can’t remember the last time that he saw Zayn, all of the days and weeks and months that pass by melting together like burning wax. That’s how it always feels to Harry when they’re apart. The world is two solid shades of grey without the boy that he had grown used to holding when he was young and Zayn was slightly younger than he is now.

That’s how it has always been, so it’s no surprise to him that his life continues to slide on like that, as he sits on the recliner that is squat in the middle of his sister’s apartment. The show on the television flickers from scene to scene, but Harry isn’t sure what’s happening anymore or what the name of the show even is because his eyes stare at his cellphone and at his right thumb that hesitates over the call button.

He had been away at school for months, only back for Christmas and to visit his sister and mum and any other family member that Anne forced Harry to socialize with. He had complained over the phone to Anne last week when she had called him and demanded that he be present for the holidays, putting up the façade that he didn’t actually want to go back home.

In actuality, Harry was relieved to be back because after months of being thousands of miles away from Zayn, the man that he loved, the man that loved someone else was a different kind of torture that Harry wasn’t at all used to. 

But this; the torture of being of being in the same town as Zayn without being able to touch him or hold him, without being able to trace the tattoos that marked his biceps and chest and hands… this was a slow, deep pain that Harry was accustomed to and even kind of enjoyed, secretly.

Harry had always wanted what he couldn’t have.

With a sigh, Harry let his thumb press down on the call button before raising the phone up to his ear. His hands shook while his heart beat against his ribcage like bare hands against a locked door, something sinister and sad stirring in Harry’s stomach.

He listened to the dial tone, holding his breath as he waited. He bet that Zayn was at one of those rundown bars that he loved so much, a beer cradled in one of his rough hands as he bobbed his head to whatever band had been hired to play that night. He could see the scene playing out in his head so vividly, almost able to hear the sound of guitar strings and a crooning voice. He almost missed it when the voice that haunted Harry’s mind like ghosts in a bedroom lilted through the receiver.

“Hello?” Zayn’s voice was gruff, like wood that didn’t have a finishing stain on it.

Harry tried to move his lips, tried to push out the words that stuck to his tongue like a fly to a spider web, but no sound was able to make its way through his clogged throat. He could hear the sounds of voices in the background along with soft music and laughter, almost confirming Harry’s suspicions.

“Hello?” Zayn asked again, sounding impatient. “Who’s this?”

Harry cleared his throat before forcing his shaky voice to be heard. “Z-Zayn, It’s me.”

There was a pause, then, “Harry?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” Another pause. “How’ve you been, then?”

Harry smiled, clutching his phone tighter. “I’ve been… alright, I suppose. I just got back into town for the Holidays.” His heart started beating fast again, his hands sweating. “I’ve missed you.”

It got quiet again; all Harry was able to hear was Zayn’s soft breathing and Gemma moving around in the kitchen as she cooked. He regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth, but he couldn’t help it. It was the truth, and Harry had never been able to keep his honest thoughts to himself since he was a little child. It had always gotten him in trouble and Harry was hoping right now would be an exception to the pattern.

Finally, Zayn gave a tired sigh. “Haz, we can’t keep doing this.”

“What do you mean?” He asked, frowning.

“I mean that you can’t keep calling me up whenever you’re in town or feeling lonely. We’ve both got our own lives to lead. I have a fiancé, Harry, you know this. I can’t keep doing this to her, she deserves better than this.”

“But-“

“No buts, Harry. This has got to stop. I’m not twenty anymore, and you’re not sixteen. We’ve got responsibilities. We can’t keep doing this to Kate, and I can’t keep doing this to you.”

Before Harry could object, before he could beg for one more night or at least just to see him, see his face and his smile and hear his laugh ring out like a symphony, Zayn had hung up on him and left Harry alone with his thoughts and his sister’s off key singing in the kitchen.

He felt ashamed; ashamed of how desperate he always made himself out to be for Zayn, ashamed of how easily Zayn’s words had hurt him and had put tears in his eyes. That is how it had always been, though. Tonight was not an exception to the pattern.

*

Harry first met Zayn when he was sixteen years old and Zayn was twenty, a sophomore in college with eyes that lit a fire under Harry’s skin and against his bones, making his whole body feel like it was burning up.

Zayn had been one of Gemma’s friends, having moved to town to go to the local college where he had met her. At the time, Gemma was living in a shoe box of an apartment that Harry liked to visit, his visits becoming more frequent when he met Zayn.

Zayn had been sitting on Gemma’s ratty old couch one day when Harry had come by after school. Immediately, Harry felt like he had fallen in love as soon as Zayn had looked him in the eyes and offered him a broken smile as his hair fell into his eyes. Harry remembers how his face had heated up from blushing, trying to subtlety sit down on the couch next to the older boy with the big, hazel eyes.

Harry and Zayn got pretty close and comfortable around each other the more they saw one another. After a few weeks of knowing each other, Harry started to lean into Zayn’s side as they would watch television, the heady scent of Zayn’s cologne mixed with cigarettes and marijuana becoming Harry’s favorite smell.

The night everything changed was in the middle of June, after school had ended for the both of them. Gemma had taken the two to some college party, only agreeing that Harry could come after he had begged for hours and he had promised not to drink too much. The promise was broken quicker than either of them had expected it to be.

Harry remembers being so wasted that he ended up laying on the front yard in front of the house that the party was at, staring up at the night sky as the world spun faster and faster on its axis.

The airs was warm against his skin, his lips chapped and open as he sang quietly a tune that he didn’t even knew, but he sang anyways. Harry remembers being able to smell the bonfire that was in the backyard, the cicadas chirping away into the night air.

He doesn’t remember when Zayn joined him or what they talked about, but he remembers laughing. He remembers feeling Zayn’s fingers against his own and rolling onto his side until he was face to face with the most beautiful person he had ever known. He remembers warm lips and soft sighs and pleasure and words whispered into his ear that he’d never say out loud.

He remembers that nothing was ever the same, that everything was so different after that night.

*

It was New Year’s Eve and Harry was at a party, not too different than the one that Harry had first hooked up with Zayn at.

He was in the middle of the living room with some kind of liquor in his hand, his hips swaying to the beat of some song he didn’t know. He felt other bodies bumping against his as everyone was grinding against each other, sweat mingling with sweat and the bad intentions mingling with the good.

He felt hands grip his waist and a body press up against his, letting himself relax into it. He tried to ignore that the body felt wrong against his, that it wasn’t that body that he wanted to press up against. He pushed away the fact that the hands were too big and the body was too solid, the shoulders too broad.

It worked for a while, letting his ass push up against the other man’s pelvis, his head falling back on a strong shoulder. The man smiled down at Harry and Harry felt himself smirk back up at him, tugging at his bottom lip with his teeth.

Just as their lips were about to meet, Harry felt his phone start to ring in his pocket. Harry gave a soft groan before pulling away, reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone as he pushed through the throng of people to get somewhere quieter. He ended up out on the porch as he answered his phone, the world tilting a bit from the alcohol.

“ ‘llo?” Harry slurred, rubbing at his eyes.

“Harry?” The familiar voice said faintly, making Harry sober up fast.

“Zayn?”

“… Yeah, it’s me.”

Harry blinked, incredulous. “Um, d’you need something? Are you okay?”

Zayn sighed on the other end, sounding tired. “No, I just- ever since you called me I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Harry paused, not sure if he was hearing correctly. He felt so caught off guard. In all of the years that he had been fooling around with Zayn, it never happened like this. It was always Harry that called Zayn, almost always drunk or with high or maybe both. Zayn sounded completely sober, but he wasn’t quite sure. He couldn’t manage to think of anything else but  _Zaynzaynzaynzaynzayn._

“I need to see you,” Zayn continued, almost sounding unsure of himself. “I just, fuck. I miss you so fucking much, Haz. I miss seeing your fuckin’ face. Can you come over?”

Harry didn’t even have to hesitate, already stumbling over to his car and getting in. He blinked his eyes a few time before they started to focus. He said a quick okay and goodbye into the phone before he pulled out of the driveway and started down the road.

Harry wasn’t sure how it always came to this, why he was so fucking  _weak_ when it came to even the idea of Zayn wanting him the same way that he wanted him. He loved him, though he’d never admit it. He loved him blindly and foolishly and with no prevails. It was the only way he knew how to love.

He made his way down the familiar street to Zayn’s apartment, trying to focus on not swerving into the other lane or crashing into a parked car.

Before long, Harry was pulling into the parking lot and making his way up the stairway that led to Zayn. His feet were stumbling over themselves and he could hear his heartbeat in his ears. Harry approached the door and raised his fist, letting it knock against it softly.

He could hear footsteps approach the door as he waited, biting nervously on his bottom lip. He didn’t know how, but Zayn always had Harry ready to break like he was fragile, like he was fine china that Anne would set on the highest shelf in their china cabinet at home.

The door opened slowly and then there he was, just as beautiful as the last time Harry had seen him before he had moved permanently two or so years ago. His hair was messy on his head, tucked behind his ear except for the few strays that managed to fall into his big, hazel eyes that reflected the light from the hallway.

He had stubble growing in on his perfectly sculpted jawline and down to his chin, his lips stained red from wine and his skin glowing brown and so fucking beautiful that it made Harry want to reach out and touch it.

Zayn smiled at him softly, similar to the first time they met.

“Hey,” He murmured, voice gravelly and soft.

Harry didn’t say anything, instead he let the alcohol to fog up his thoughts and self-control as he leaned in and pressed his lips against Zayn’s, hands coming up to cup the man’s jaw.

Zayn only hesitated for a second before allowing himself to pull Harry into the apartment, close the door, and then continue to press the younger man against the door.  Harry reacted immediately, wrapping his long arms around Zayn’s lanky form. His body melted against the older boy’s just like it always had, like it always would.

Zayn’s hands snuck past Harry’s t-shirt as it had ridden up. Harry felt like his skin was on fire wherever the other man would touch him, like Zayn had fire under his fingertips that would singe marks into Harry’s milky skin, like he was scarring him.

They pulled away for air, chests heaving a bit as they looked at each other, really looked at each other for the first time in so long that Harry couldn’t even remember when the last time was.

Zayn looked older now, more like a man and less like a boy who had been treated well by puberty. And god, he was so fucking beautiful it made Harry’s chest ache and eyes burn, especially with the way that he was looking at him now. Zayn was studying him, letting his eyes wander over his face and examine the slight hair that had finally started to grace Harry’s chin.

Harry knew for a fact that he himself looked older now. He was a lot taller than he used to be, his legs long and uncoordinated as ever. He was more muscular now and his hair was longer. He was a man, everything about him screamed it… And yet, in Zayn’s presence he still felt like a sixteen year old, wide-eyed kid who just wanted Zayn to love him.

“You look so grown,” Zayn murmured, a half smile pushing onto his lips while his eyes conveyed something else.

Harry shrugged, looking away. “That’s what happens, Z. We grow up, we become different people.”

Zayn laughed, shaking his head as he pulled back from Harry. He walked into the living room and Harry followed close behind, sitting down on the couch beside him as he looked around the apartment.

Everywhere he looked, Harry was reminded of  _her,_ of Zayn’s fiancé, and it made his stomach churn. Her shoes were in the corner and she had a pile of bright colored coats and jackets set on an armchair. He could see hair ties and bobby pins on the coffee table, along with a stack of beauty magazine and a diamond necklace.

On the bookcase, Harry could barely make out a dozen or so pictures of the pair together, along with them with their friends and their parents. Harry felt increasingly uncomfortable the more he thought about Zayn and her, about how Zayn was just a borrowed man for the night, and then tomorrow he’s go back to her and be the perfect boyfriend Harry knew he probably was.

“What’s wrong?” Zayn asked as eyebrows scrunched together. “You look tense as hell, mate.”

Harry looked over at him with a sigh. “Zayn, why am I here? Why did you call me?”

“Because I missed you.”

“But why? Why do you miss me, Zayn? Why do you want me here? You have a fiancé; you’re going to get married. We can’t keep doing this, you can’t keep pushing me out and then pulling me right back in when you’re lonely.”

Harry’s body was shaking and he felt like crying. He wrapped his arms around himself and refused to meet Zayn’s eyes because he knew if he did, it was game over. He was just that easy when it came to the raven-haired boy; it had always been like that.

Zayn let a soft sigh before reaching out and pulling Harry closer to him, hooking a finger under his chin and lifting his head up so their eyes had to meet. Zayn looked so sincere, so sorry and regretful and it made Harry want to scream.

“I don’t love you,” Zayn murmured, voice soft but still enough to break Harry’s heart.

Harry felt a tear slip down his cheek. “I know.”

“At least not in the same way that you love me, that I love Emily.”

“I know, Zayn.”

“But,” Zayn began, voice hesitant. “I always miss you. Whenever I’m with you, I feel okay and I feel normal. You make me feel sane, Harry. I think that if things were different, I could have loved you.”

Harry was freely crying, now, his body limp against Zayn’s, his face mushed into his t-shirt as he let his body be wracked with sobs. Zayn just sat quiet and wrapped his arms around Harry’s body, kissing the top of his head and singing softly to him until he calmed down.

Once Harry had himself put together enough, he pulled away and wiped at his eyes. Zayn just smiled sadly and pulled him in until their lips were touching, and that’s when Harry recognized this as what it was; this was a goodbye.

And he knew that this would only make the heartbreak worse, that it would only give Harry more reasons to cry over Zayn and what could have been. The thing was, he didn’t care. He just wanted to soak up all of the moments and memories that he could get with Zayn.

Zayn broke away from this kiss and stood up, grabbing Harry’s hand as he led him back to the bedroom. Harry followed close behind and let himself be pushed back onto the mattress when they got there.

Zayn crawled up Harry’s body, pulling off his own shirt and motioning for Harry to follow suit. It wasn’t long before they were both only clad in their boxers, lips connecting furiously as their hands fumbled against each other’s bodies as they tried to memorize each other one last time.

Harry felt the older man’s body lift off his own for a moment before hearing a drawer open and close before Zayn was right back to hovering above him. His hair was messy and in his eyes as he uncapped the lube and squirted a dollop onto his fingers.

He worked Harry open carefully with one finger at first before slowly adding a second, making Harry arch his back and let out a soft whine.

He let himself relax and memorize the feeling of Zayn’s fingers inside him, and How Zayn mouthed at his nipples and kissed his neck and all of the soft words that he breathed into Harry’s ear as he pulled his fingers out and slicked up his cock.

Zayn situated himself between Harry’s legs before pushing in, and after Zayn had bottomed everything kind of became one blur to Harry. All he could feel and hear and smell and taste and think of was  _Zayn._

Harry doesn’t know the exact moment that he started crying again, only realizing that he had when the older man began to wipe away his tears with soft kisses, whispering that they’d be okay, even though they both knew that after tonight things wouldn’t be okay.

Harry came with a cry sooner than he’d like to admit, Zayn following suit not long after, pulling out to release on Harry’s torso before collapsing next to the boy.

They were both silent after that, letting their bodies mold together as they pretended to sleep. After a while of pretending, Zayn did fall asleep, soft snores falling from his parted lips as Harry watched him doze.

“I love you,” He whispered softly, pushing hair out of Zayn’s eyes. “I love you so much.”

*

When Zayn woke up the next day, Harry was gone and the only trace that he had left behind was a small heart that he had drawn in sharpie on the pillowcase, like he used to do when he was sixteen and had to leave for school.

For the first time in all of the years that they had been sneaking around, Zayn cried over Harry.

 

 

 

_**Fin.** _


End file.
